


To Get It Right, Would it Be so Wrong

by Damalia (Achrya)



Series: Something In You I Believe In [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Depression, Eating Disorders, Explicit Language, F/F, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Insecurity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, No one in the tags dies, Past Abuse, Rimming, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6123260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Damalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chance encounters at a club leave surprising wrinkles in everyone's life and it's all anyone can do to stay on their feet to make it to the other side of things. </p><p> </p><p>Or: A story about love, friendship, and getting things right as best you can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Get It Right, Would it Be so Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> *mutters something about a ton of pointless sex* Err, I mean, direct follow up to 'Something You've Never Seen Before' but if you don't wanna read it: Eren and Armin have sex at a club, Jean goes home with Marco. It's basically plotless but this picks up from the morning after.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people eat waffles, some people get laid, and some people are confused

 

Marco woke up, half suffocating in his pillow, wondering dimly why his apartment was so hot. And then realized it wasn’t that his apartment was hot, because his feet were actually really cold, that that he was crushed against someone else.

He cringed.

Have you ever had one of those mornings where you woke up in bed after a night of sex on various handy surfaces with a guy whose name you very clearly remember having the aforementioned sex with palming your ass like he owned it?

Because that was Marco’s current reality.

And, speaking of ‘like he owned it’, the ache in his lower half would have made it clear, even if he couldn’t remember it all in perfect sinful detail, that his ass had been thoroughly owned on those various surfaces, up to and including the bed.

He blinked and wiggled a little, trying to angle his head so his face was no longer pressed into his pillow and cringing as that brought his cheek in contact with the puddle of drool that had accumulated during the night. Face freed, and air coming more freely, Marco tried to get a handle on the situation.

_Marco hit the bed, groaning softly as cool sheets whispered over hot skin. He felt shaky, stretched out, and oversensitive, like he might fly apart at any moment, and the bed helped ground him a little. He was turned on, felt like he had been for hours, but he was pretty sure he was technically done or, at least, it was going to take some work to get him hard again. That didn’t stop him from feeling a curl of want in his stomach when he looked back to see Jean smoothing a condom on his dick._

_The bed dipped and his legs were nudged further apart before the other man crawled over him. Jean settled mostly on top of him, legs pressed against his own from the knee up, dick riding along the crack of his ass . He laid there on his stomach, breathing shallowly as he clenched the sheets, and waited. Marco whined, body insisting it was toomuchtoomuchnotenoughsgood, as his sensitive channel was pushed into yet again._

_Jean settled into him slowly, stopping only when he was flush against him, then stretched out over him so their bodies were tight against each other from where they were connected up to the their shoulders. He was pinned under the other man’s weight; a hand came up from somewhere and a thumb swept over his lips. “You okay?”_

_His body was loose and pliant, little more than something for Jean to play with as he saw fit, and there was a kind of rush in that Marco hadn’t known existed. It hurt a little, a reminder that he’d already been pretty well fucked before this, but mostly it was just being open and full._

_“Yeah. Do you need me to-”_

_“No. Just lie there.” Jean’s hips rocked, a maddenly slow drag inside of him, and Marco shuddered before letting his head fall back onto the bed._

He licked his lips, casting a look over at Jean (Jean? Yeah, yeah, that sounded right) and felt a flush sweeping over his skin at the memory.

Alright then. So that had happened. No big deal, he’d just gotten a little (a lot) slutty last night, maybe said some things that were embarrassing in hindsight, let some random guy fuck him until he’d thought maybe he was going to die and now here they were, cuddling.

That...that happened sometimes to people right? He wasn’t going to freak out.

He was sort of freaking out.

Taking people he didn’t know home for sex wasn’t something he did, the night before notwithstanding. Not that he had a problem with the concept, what consenting adults did on their own time was none of his business, but it just wasn’t something he did. He couldn’t even point to being drunk; he’d had two shots early in the night and between the club and walking back to his apartment he’d been more or less sober by the time they’d hit the door.

No, he’d just been horny as hell and had someone hot and willing who’d made his intention to fuck Marco six ways to Sunday clear. Not that he’d said that but that was how Marco had interpreted the heated kisses and wiggling fingers when they’d been tucked away in that corner of the club and

He squeaked and slapped a hand over his face.

He’d let this guy finger him in public. He’d gotten so caught up in that feeling of being wanted that he’d forgotten all of his common sense.

His momma would have been so ashamed and oh, this was not the time to be thinking about his mother. She was undoubtedly going to be calling soon; she always managed to call at just the wrong times and she would know. She always knew. When he’d been fourteen and given that boy who turned out to be a total jerk a handjob in his bedroom she’d known somehow.

His ears still burned at the memory of the ‘The Talk’.

No. He was not thinking about his mother, Jesus fucking Christ, and he was not freaking out. He was an adult, this sort of thing happened. He was going to get out of bed, wake Jean up, and handle this like grown ups did.

How did grown up handle this? A handshake and then ushering the other party out? Escaping to the shower while the other left and hopefully didn’t steal your stuff? How did people avoid a ‘So. Hello there stranger. Thanks for fucking my brain loose last night’ conversation?

Where was his phone? Maybe he could google it.

If he managed to get away from the human shaped koala hanging off of him. Jean was snoring softly next to him, more on him than not. Marco was stretched out on his stomach, arms shoved under his pillow, and Jean was on his side, body pressed firmly against him, one leg tangled around Marco’s and a hand on his ass.

And ‘on’ wasn’t really doing it justice. More like holding on to one cheek, long fingers teasing at his crack and

_He arched his back as his fingers scrambled over the slick surface of his poor abused coffee table, shout caught and strangling in his throat. He twitched and shook, tears pricking his eyes as he came in Jean’s mouth in weak spurts. The two fingers inside of him didn’t so much as slow down or let up, pressing right against his prostate while Jean’s thumb rubbed against him from the outside and_

_He half moan half sobbed, hand spasming in Jean’s hair, felt like something was snapping inside of him, and all but collapsed back onto the table._

_“ohmygodoh.”_

_Jean laughed around him then let his dick slide out of his mouth but his fingers kept moving. Marco shivered, toes curling, body unsure if it wanted to press back to meet Jean’s fingers or get the fuck away. He was riding some kind of line, caught on the edge even though he’d just come (again.) and he felt completely wretched in the best way._

_He’d woken up on the couch feeling lazy and fucked out. The process of going from couch to the table with Jean between his legs was hazy, having long since slipped from his mind with anything else resembling rational thought, but he was almost positive it had been forever ago and that Jean had been using his fingers and mouth to slowly kill him for what felt like hours._

_And he was dying. Had to be. What else could it be._

_Finally, finally, Jean’s fingers slipped out of him. He clenched weakly on reflex, feeling oddly empty after so long at Jean’s mercy. “You said your bed was up those stairs?”_

_Marco stared up at his ceiling. “Bed?”_

_He wasn’t entirely sure he knew what a bed was anymore. He sure as fuck wasn’t going up any stairs to get to it. The table was surprisingly comfortable and seemed like a pretty awesome place to die._

Marco squirmed just a little, unable to help himself. He didn’t think he was quite in a position to get it up again, there were no words for how completely drained he had been and what sort of kinky fucker busted out those sorts of ‘games’ on a first night, did Jean have no decorum, but apparently his dick was willing to try anyway.

“Stop moving.” He froze at the sound of Jean’s voice, sleep roughened and cracking. “It’s too...uh.”

Yes.

Uh.

“Hi?”

Amber eyes blinked at him blearily. Then around the room, which was actually a small loft area on top of the kitchen. Marco’s apartment wasn’t big by any stretch but it had high ceilings and a lot of things were built ‘high’ and doubled as storage, like the stairs up to the loft, to compensate.

It also had thin walls and he was going to be apologizing to his neighbors _forever._

There was a silence that could only be called awkward where Jean just stared into his eyes blankly. Then, all at once, realization seemed to set in and he was jerking back with a yelp. Right over the edge of the bed and onto the ground with a thud.

Marco slipped out on the other side, wincing he stood (did he had to work today? God he hoped not.) and padded over to his dresser. He fished out a t-shirt and yanked it on; he really needed a shower but one thing at a time. He heard Jean shuffling around behind him then brushing past him to go down the stairs to the lower level.

He was carefully hopping into a pair of sweatpants when he heard a low hiss and a “Oh fuck.”

That didn’t sound good. He hurried down the stairs, chewing on his lower lip, and found Jean standing, dressed save for the shirt he was clutching in one hand and one missing sock, just on the edge of a pile of aqua blue ceramic shards that had once been Marco’s couch side lamp.

_Marco was bent over the couch, gasping for air and clutching at the fake leather as Jean pounded into him. He was doing his best to not to lose it what felt like criminally fast but Jean was panting some of the dirtiest shit he’d ever heard in his ear._

_The fucking mouth on this guy should have been illegal._

_“You look so good on my dick.” Marco bit his lip hard as a hand found his hair and tugged him back so he was was back to chest with Jean and could feel the words against his skin. “Stretched open and begging like you were made for cock.”_

_He let out an embarrassing whimper. His hand darted out, flailing for something to hold since being yanked up had forced him to let go of the couch. There was a smack, a flare of pain in his hand, and then a shattering sound._

_Jean went still then, much to Marco’s dismay, stepped away from him. “Hey, what-”_

_“No, it’s fine.” He said quickly. He twisted around, levering himself up onto the arm of the couch, and reach out into the darkness to grab at Jean’s shirt and yank him back in. He heard a ripping sound, disregarded that as well, and focused on the task at hand._

He looked from the lamp to the shirt in Jean’s hands. He could see the tear in it from where he was standing, a large gaping hole in the armpit, and cringed.

“I can fix that.” The words were out of his mouth and he was crossing the room and plucking the item from Jean’s hands before the other man could mount the protest Marco could see written on his face. “It’s fine. I ripped it so I can fix it.”

He turned on his heel and beelined for the kitchen. He heard Jean’s footsteps, quiet on the wood floor, following him.

“You sew?”

“Yeah I-” He stopped, cocking his head to the side as he yanked open one of the drawers to fish out his smaller sewing kit. He didn’t imagine Jean was interested in hearing about how he worked drag shows on the weekends and had become incredibly good at not just doing hair and makeup but stitching up holes with nothing but a needle, thread, and some scraps of fabric. “Learned from my mom.”

Technically the truth.

He poked a finger through the tear thoughtfully. He was going to need to find some matching fabric to put in there but that was fine, ratty black t-shirts were something he had a lot of.

“It’s going to take a minute so...do you want breakfast?” He turned around, catching Jean’s bewildered look. He bit his lip again; right, mending shirts and breakfast was probably not what Jean had in mind. But the idea was there now and his fingers itched to do something.

“I make really good pecan waffles.”

Cooking would help mellow him out and make all of this seem less...strange. Cooking always made him feel better. Also eating.

That was, undoubtedly, how he’d ended up a chubby teenager and was now a ‘perhaps slightly heavier than is probably ideal’ adult, as he liked to put it. Next to Jean, who was narrow, made of sharp angles and wiry muscle he could see shifting under pale skin, he probably looked...well.

If Jean’s hesitant expression had a little to do with him being less pleasing in the light of day...he wouldn’t have been the first guy to feel that way after fooling around.

Not that Marco dwelled on that kind of thing.

Anymore.

Much.

“You _make_ waffles?”  Jean said finally. “People _make_ waffles?”

Marco gasped before he could stop himself, then shook his head, discomfort set aside in light of what he saw as a grievous offense. “Has no one ever made you waffles?  Bless your heart.”

Jean’s laughed like he was surprised to be doing it. Marco smiled slightly, something warm fluttering in his chest, then set the shirt on the counter so he could start gathering what he needed. He yanked down the nuts and flour then, realizing Jean was watching him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world, pointed towards the refrigerator.

“Can you get the buttermilk, eggs, and butter out the fridge? And the fatback.”

“What’s fatback look like?”

“Oh honey.”

 

\---

 

Bertholdt stepped out of the bathroom to find that Reiner was still in bed, staring intently at the wall that separated their apartment from Marco’s. In the 2 or so years they’d been living next to each other, combined with a half year of Marco sleeping on their couch, Bertholdt had never once regretted finding apartments close to each other.

Quite the opposite, he appreciated having Marco around. He was one of their best friends, for one, the carpooling to class and work was handy for another, and the fact he could cook incredibly well was just the icing on the cake. Left to their own devices he and Reiner would eat nothing but takeout, Bertholdt being hopeless and Reiner just having no desire to come home and cook after spending all day doing just that.

Last night, however, Bertholdt had spent a lot of time lying next to Reiner wishing he was somewhere else. There was just something incredibly uncomfortable about listening to Marco have sex, and a lot of it, loudly.

It had been...awkward. He’d found himself wondering idly if Marco just hadn’t had anyone over in two years or was normally much more quiet.  

The only real conclusion he’d come to was that it was maybe time to move somewhere with thicker walls.

“I think they’re done breaking all of Marco’s furniture.” Reiner rolled over to the edge of the bed as he spoke, hand snaking out to grab the edge of Bertholdt’s towel and yank him closer. Bertholdt held onto the towel, frowning.

“What’re you going?”

“Trying to get you back in bed?” Reiner’s face said it should have been obvious and, as he was dragged down into the mass of sheets, blankets, and pillows the blond insisted on keeping on their bed, he had to admit it should have been. Reiner had been trying all night but Bertholdt, who was down for just about anything, just hadn’t felt right about sex to the tune of Marco having sex.

Reiner had seemed far less bothered and maybe a little turned on, which was...very Reiner.  

“I just took a shower.” He said, holding his towel tighter; the downside of that move was that it left him unable to do anything as he was dragged back and manhandled against the pillows then onto his stomach.

He huffed out a laugh to cover up the moan he wanted to let out. There weren’t a lot of people who could move him around against his will and he’d always sort of secretly enjoyed that Reiner could do just that. He’d figured being held down or picked up was just not in the cards for him when puberty had hit and he’d been north of six feet at fourteen but, as always, Reiner had...come through, as it were.

“Uh hu.” Reiner nodded and ran big rough hands up his thighs, pushing the towel up as he went, and leaned forward to nip at the back of his neck. “It’s appreciated. You smell good.”

“And you have to work in an hour.”

“I hear I’m related to the owners.” Lips pressed against the top of his spine and the simple tattoo. “Marcel’s there baking, it’ll be fine.”

Bertholdt rolled his eyes as kisses were peppered along his spine but didn’t much to halt the downward progress. He told himself it was because it was quicker to go along with it, Reiner might even conceivably get to work on time since the restaurant was only a short jog away.

It had nothing to do with Reiner’s hands doing magical things as they dug into his back, working out knots and tension as his mouth and tongue traced nonsense on his skin.

He lifted his hips for the towel to be tossed aside then flopped back down, toes curling as thumbs dug in just over the small of his back. Reiner hummed softly then nipped at the top of his ass. Hands touched his ass, thumbs dipping in between the cheeks and spreading him.

He bit down on his hand to muffle a noise when Reiner licked over his hole. He wasn’t much for making noise to begin with, usually keeping his noises dulled by Reiner’s skin or the bed, but now he was even more acutely aware of how much sound carried.

Reiner worked at him, teasing swipes over sensitive muscle followed by presses and rubs from his thumb, slowing getting him to loosen up but never moving to actually push inside. He whined and cursed into his hand, pushing his hips back when the tip of Reiner’s tongue circled over him with maddening slowly. He bit his hand again when teeth scraped his rim and Reiner sucked and his tongue swirled

Then the mouth against him was gone and he snapped his head around in surprise. “What-”

“Hey.” Reiner’s hand hit the left side of his ass with a sharp crack that had his back bowing as he grunted in surprise.

“Shit, Reiner!” He already didn’t sound quite like himself, voice shaking and higher pitched.

A chuckle had him glaring flatly in irritation. Reiner looked utterly unapologetic but did rub a soothing hand over the stinging skin. “I think, after last night, it’s fine if you make a little noise.”

He rolled his eyes upwards. “Not a competition.”

“...it’s sort of a competition.”

His scathing remark was lost in a watery moan as Reiner put his mouth back to it’s original task, delving past the tight ring of muscles to lap at the inside.

Bertholdt opted to stop trying to gnaw through his hand. It would have been hard to explain to people at work how he’d bitten himself nearly hard enough to break the skin anyway.

 

\---

 

When Eren stumbled out of his bedroom it was to find Mikasa in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and nudging Annie with her feet while the other woman cooked. It looked like pants were optional since they were both wearing oversized t-shirts and nothing else he could see.

Not that he wanted to see.

One of Annie’s hand was trapped between Mikasa’s thighs and that was more than enough for his eyes already.

He grunted at them then, spotting a plate of bacon on the kitchen table, reached for it.

“I will pluck your eyes out and cram them down your throat.” Annie didn’t even turn around as she threatened him. “That’s for Mikasa.”

Mikasa laughed softly, dark eyes dancing with humor, then inclined her head to indicate that it was fine. He shook his head and went to fish out a bowl for cereal instead.

He liked his eyes just where they were, thank you very much.

“Didn’t hear you come in last night.” Mikasa said, smile still firmly in place. She looked relaxed, a rare thing these days. Between work and school she was always busy, which was why he tried not to take it too personally when Annie told him to take a hike so Mikasa could have some down time. “Thought you were at Jean’s.”

“Thought I told you to stay at Jeans.” Annie added and this time she did turn, glaring at him from behind her bangs. He crept to the far side of the kitchen with the milk and cereal before responding.

“Jean found someone to go home with,” Annie snorted as if to say ‘who would do that’. “So Armin brought me home.”

Mikasa blinked then cast a look first towards the couch and then towards his bedroom. “Where is he?”

Eren didn’t say anything, focusing on pouring his cereal as he let that question rattle around in his head.

_“Um.” Armin looked down at Jean’s car keys then up at Eren. “I have to tell my friends I’m leaving but if you wanted to go back to your place-”_

_“Yes.”_

_His place would be great. His bedroom and, more to the point his bed, would be even better. It would-wait. No. “Annie and ‘Kasa are there.”_

_Armin raised an eyebrow. “Okay? Is that a...problem?”_

_“If they see you, yeah.” Eren widened his eyes, hoping to impress how very bad it would be if Annie was awake and caught them coming in when she’d told him to get lost. “But we could sneak in very quietly so they don’t see us like this. And stay quiet. That could work; I think I have some of your clothes in my room so that won’t be a problem or anything.”_

_It was late enough that Mikasa and Annie would be, if not asleep, in his sister’s room for the night. If they were quiet they wouldn’t have to face Annie’s rage for interrupting her designated ‘get Mikasa to relax’ time.  Having some of Armin’s clothes around meant they’d be able to drop what he was wearing in the wash without him having to wear Eren’s (far too big) stuff._

_Though maybe he wanted Armin in his clothes. The idea, now that it was in his head, had a certain appeal to it._

_“Nevermind.” Armin said, turning away from him. “I’ll just drop you off and head home. I’ll call Reiner from the car”_

_Eren blinked. “Wait. What?”_

_A response didn’t seem like it was forthcoming so, rubbing at the back of his neck anxiously, Eren trailed after Armin._

Armin hadn’t had much to say after that, driving him home with nothing more than a quiet ‘Bye Eren’. He’d felt like he needed to say something the entire ride but he wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong to begin with, or if it had been him at all, let alone how to fix it. So he’d just kept quiet and slunk up to his room.

He’d spent most of the night wide awake thinking about the way Armin had looked while riding him in the bathroom but at some point sleep had actually come.

He shrugged. “He had to get back to some other friends.”

“He has other friends?” Annie asked looking genuinely puzzled. “Since when?”

Eren pursed his lips, stirring his spoon around in his bowl. That was, actually, a really good fucking question. Friends he hadn’t heard anything about, going out after ignoring his calls, and the way he’d been dressed...he hadn’t know anything about that either.

He thought about the big blond guy who’d been with Armin, wondered for a moment if they were dating then pushed the thought away with a frown. No, Armin wasn’t the cheating type.

Then again he hadn’t thought he was the skirt wearing or sex in a public bathroom type either so maybe he didn’t know Armin as well as he thought.

He dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter and a spray of milk.

“Don’t worry Jaeger.” Annie said. A paper towel with a strip of bacon was pushed over the counter into his field of vision. “I’m sure you're still his favorite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here](http://acharyadiako.tumblr.com/post/139922636430/because-ive-never-written-an-au-and-not-had-a) for more stuff about the universe this is set in.


End file.
